


Devil’s Snare

by Lady_GothiKa



Series: Sweet & Sour - Victor Zsasz [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (OC) Zsaszettes, Causal amounts of gore and blood, F/M, That one fic where you're supposed to be wholesome. Just roll with it, What could go wrong..., You're a florist and Victor is a spooky boy, you're going to suffer but you're going to be happy about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-01-13 18:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_GothiKa/pseuds/Lady_GothiKa
Summary: Victor Zsasz was no fool when it came to being a hired gun, he had danced with death on many occasions.But dealing with the flower shop girl?… The one he might have ‘accidentally saved.’...Well, he’s entirely clueless. . .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't wrote in awhile, decided to do something new to get back into it again.
> 
> Devil's Snare, or also known as the Angel’s Trumpet is a certain plant that causes delirium's, it also renders the victim unable to tell fantasy from reality. /not the hp one...OKAY?!/ XD
> 
> Warning for blood and gore on the first chapter...

# 

#  Chapter One

 

 

 

It started the way most things start in Gotham.

Blood drenched, alongside shattered glass and that all too infamous ring of white noise shrieking in your ears. The freshly plucked tulips now covered the floor, each petal forming an individual like drop of warm crimson blood, torn and broken without as much as an explanation.

Three men had decided your new establishment was an easy target, a young woman by herself wouldn’t make for a challenge, you were outnumbered, overpowered and unarmed. All you could manage was to keep yourself alive. Stripped. Your golden locket had been snatched from around your neck by forceful, undesirable hands. How could you feel this vulnerable? So weak? So clothed and yet so naked and helpless at the same time. For a flash, you were uncertain if it was tears or blood painting trails down your cheeks.

Another gunshot had you shriek from the back of your throat without sound. It was warm and yet chilling at the same time, inches away, nevertheless close enough to feel the impact, the sound, the spray that coated your skin from the waistline up. A single bullet had pierced the man beside you, striking its point almost to exact precision, straight between the eyes.

“Oooh, that’s gotta hurt boys.” A man’s voice had the other two men turn faster than you could get on your knees, scrambling over broken glass, slicing open your skin to hide behind the counter away from prying eyes.

You couldn’t see although you could hear footsteps closing in, the little copper bell above the entrance rang as the smashed door swung open. “I understand it’s in your best interests to lower your weapons.” The same voice called again in its placid, smooth manner.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Shits and giggles, see me laughing here? No kidos, licenses, show em.”

 “Wha -”

“Oh-oh, wrong answer.”  Instantly another bang discharged at the same time you clutch your mouth, breathing so loud and sobbing you were almost sure you could be heard for miles.

“Now I am going ask again and this time I suggest you turning the ass-fuckery down a notch.”  

 “I don’t have - uh..” A panicked voice rushed out of tone.

“Well then. I am counting to five, you better start running before I....” The man’s voice said followed by making sarcastic pop sound with his lips.

You counted along in your head, eyes closed, the place fell silent, deadly silent. Until boots crunching over glass gradually became more conspicuous and close.

Was this the end? Were you going to die? You sought to calm your mind, bearing your head straight and drying the aching swell in your eyes, it was all you could do.

Though, surely your heart could not endure this much longer.

 “I still hear breathing.” You discovered the once calm voice cut you just as deep as the splintered glass embedded in your flesh.  “They’re gone.”

They were? How was he certain? He let one go, what if he comes back? What if they were in a gang of sorts? What if they recognize you? What if they know where you lived?

Drenched in blood and bathed in tears you crawled out from under your counter to study not only the lifeless bodies but one single figure standing amongst the ruins. He was naturally silhouetted by his matching black on black garb down to the gloves, now unarmed and reaching through glass and blood to lift a single white rose to his nose to take in its rich velvety scent, then sets it upon his black lapel. “I hope you don’t mind.”

You shook your head, cold and scared without a word. The man’s ebony eyes were glaring back into yours, you knew he was deep in thought. Peering, questing, wondering… perhaps you should perish too,  accompany the dead, it would be so easy for him, too easy, death is simple, breathing is complicated.

He sees your fragility, draws at it, the blood that isn’t yours and the blood which is still oozing from your fresh wounds. To him you must look so defenseless, another poor soul awaiting release.

Yet his mind is made.

 He turns his sights away, allowing his fingers to slide adjacent to the door frame. “I should let you clean up.”

 You’re not sure why you do so, your head wasn’t clear, the bodies on the floor were growing cold and yet you were still breathing, enduring, shaken, trembling, though alive with a heart nearly leaving your chest.

But this man…

He...

“Sir...Thank you.”  You gasped, “You saved my life… I…”


	2. Chapter 2

It takes Victor twelve hours to remember… _or perhaps he simply chose to forget._

 

His car keys dropped onto the kitchen counter as he clutches a cold carton of milk from the fridge, slamming it closed, the faint jungle within his breast pocket serves as a delicate reminder.

 

At first, he was uncertain as to what it was precisely, nevertheless a certain glimmer catches the light despite the volume of dry blood that had hidden his gem. It wasn't the first time he had found something interesting clenched inside a dead man’s hand. However, it was the first of _its_ kind. Under the kitchen tap, he rinses it with warm water which splashes over his palm, his bare thumb caressing it once again returning it to its former glory.

 

An antique gold pendant in the shape of a heart, he discovers upon raising it to the light, along with two initials on the back and embroidered flowers boarding the front in carved delicate rose gold filigree.

 

It takes him a moment to grasp there was indeed more to discover, little hidden details his thumb had concealed, like a tiny groove in the side meant to be opened.

 

He figures there’s no harm in taking a brief peep.

 

_If he can get it open._

 

His fingers were too big, not enough nail, it’s meant for small dainty fingers, ones that particularly belong to a woman.

 

Victor raised his knee to slide open his cutlery draw, rather than use his hands. He grabs a butter knife after, assuming it would be better to pry open, his interest growing by the second.

 

_It’s like cracking a tiny safe,_ he thinks to himself, yet he’s never done that either.

 

He takes considerable care trying not to leave a mark, slipping it in and applying just the right amount of leverage until he hears a pop.

 

It opens.

 

And he closes it promptly at the site of a photograph of a young woman.

 

At the same time, his furrowed brow aches in discomfort, squeezing the piece of jewelry shut within his palm, placing it down and walking away. For once sleep sounds good.

 

The flower from his collar lays dormant out of site... _. within a cup of water._

  


 

 

 

 

For hours Zsasz ponders.

 

Even if he wanted to sleep, it hardly ever came. Insomnia is his cold unforgiving mistress.

 

So he was left to lay awake staring at the ceiling, deep in dire thought, confusing, conflicting thoughts weaved by his own contrast imagery; not of death, but of life and it’s little blooms.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

**A few weeks ago…**

 

It was a brisk Spring morning when Victor had made his way down the block from Oswald’s. A little bistro on the corner that sold, without a doubt, the best tea the city offered, plus they were used to dealing with the more diverse citizens of Gotham and that had it’s overwhelming advantages. The assassin whistled to himself with a dance to his stride; he had journeyed this route many times before.

 

Until he spotted something entirely unfamiliar.

 

Something he had never seen before on his way.

 

It had him pause, turning on the spot and puckering his hairless brow.

 

Zsasz didn’t like change, and this was precisely that.

 

_A florist?_ The man almost snickers till realizes there’s plausibly decent cash in it, regarding all the funerals he’s got lined up, compliments to his boss’ ill temperament and rank in station these days.

 

He concludes to cross the street, it would be merely a means of time before Oswald would appoint him there anyhow and with all the rules his boss was now reinforcing. It wouldn’t be long till he makes the rounds of all sorts of establishments, big or little.

 

Amidst the bright coral roses and vivid sunflowers bunched together Zsasz isn’t sure what to conceive, besides trying to mask the solid urge to sneeze from the disturbing amount pollen floating amongst the air. From the front, he can see a figure with their back turned, a woman presumably. She was arranging flowers in a vase, pulling one out and replacing it with a new one, relocating it and drawing a step back to get a better view as she shook her head and crossed her arms in a huff.

 

Entering would result in three ways, he predicts, and none of them would end pleasantly for a young lady such as herself, women like her never did find his company amusing in the slightest.  

 

He won’t enter not today…

 

However, in due time he’ll return and without question and not of his own.

 

Yet

 

As he begins to move, he can’t help but notice it, he wonders why he didn’t see it before, he should have straight away.

 

Something far more disturbing.

 

Something he could not overlook nor simply move past.

 

_A scent._

 

One in which he had thought he had long neglected.

 

One in which resided to age-old recollections, hidden and archived in the back of his mind. The strong perfume of lilacs that once belonged to his late mother’s garden. Odd little emotions and memories scattered about, good to awful, all confusing, but the aura itself…

 

He selected a single moment out of time for himself to cherish.

 

 

 

 

 

When Victor reopens his eyes, he’s uncertain to whether he was asleep or merely lost in thought. He decided the next day he would return the ladies necklace, dangling it over his rear view mirror. Turning his head every day as he drove past the florist’s shop in which had been boarded up and closed ever since that day.

 

**Until it wasn’t...**

 

…


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Everything was harder.  


Even the little things you used to take for granted. How could it be that simply being alone or in the dark felt utterly terrifying? It was like you were being followed constantly or something would suddenly show up behind you and jump out of nowhere. It had you shaken at every sound. Cars were too loud. The bell that used to hang above the door made you jolt at every shake, before it too had to be removed.

 

How could you continue like this? In constant alarm and perceiving how truly absurd you were being? it was all in your head, it has to be and yet you felt more vulnerable than ever; like a frail little doll weakened by cracks ready to shatter upon the slightest amount of pressure.

 

Jim Gordon, a nice policeman had come in your hour of need, ever since then he visits every now and again to check up and see if you are doing well. In truth, you’re still mending, physically and mentally. The stitches and scars are still raw but your new found friends made you feel safe and not so much just one woman vs the whole of Gotham.

 

In exchange you gift him fresh flowers whenever he visits to give to his lovely lady friend that visited you a few times while in hospital, she herself was especially warm, gracious and kind, you were overwhelmed for the surrounding support, it would have been much harder without them.

 

However, you never did get your necklace back. It was the only thing that could never be replaced or rebought.

  
  
  


 

  
  


The store was reopened sometime later, it had to be remodeled after…. the incident. New windows and walls were needed to be replaced considering the last were full of bullet holes and ugly red stains that made you feel squeamish, the new carpet had made it look like it never occurred.

 

...Or so you told yourself as you casually walked around the spot, still shaken to the bone and slightly grossed out.

 

Mr. Gordon had also made sure you were more ‘equipped’ this time around, although you protested profusely, the idea of being armed was something you were strongly unsure about, considering you had never owned a weapon except a can of pepper spray. Unsure on how to even use such a contraption, the policemen had gone to several lengths for you to learn.

 

Still, It was easier said than done and his failed attempt of trying to get his older friend Harvey to give you shooting lessons was terribly misguided, that and his sweet but inept tries of flirtation and flattery.

 

In the end, you accepted to keep it, only to have it hidden far under the counter, forcing yourself to believe you’d never have to use it.

 

But until then, it laid there inactive gathering dust, loaded and out of sight of your trembling hands.

 

Only for the man in black to once again return...

  



	4. Chapter 4

 

It wasn’t like he expected tea and cakes upon arrival, but he didn’t expect her to wield a gun to his chest either. Her hands trembled, fear easily shown from her sullen eyes; that, and her immeasurable inexperience.

 

“Neat Glock.”

 

“I Ah… _Pardon?”_

 

Did she just excused herself while bearing a gun to him?! Victor closes his eyes for a brief second, jarring his jaw to the side while casually ignoring the evidence that the safety is still clearly switched on, surely it’s at least loaded. . . Please, he begs on the inside, _please._

 

Zsasz raised his palms, dragging out his firearms from both of his holsters under his arms and places them on the floor in a gesture of good faith. “The gun you're holding,” he points out.

 

She appears still agitated by his unexpected arrival, stepping back as she speaks holding her weapon steady in the air. “I oh... I knew that… I..”

 

Victor’s initial thought goes to Jim, it’s a cop's gun. It was no wonder he turned up, the poor dude is drawn to dead corpses quicker than flies and Victor had left few here that day. “Lower the pistol, _please_.”

 

“I am grateful you spared me… but, please sir - just - just leave - or I’ll… I...!” She almost wept her words.

 

Or what precisely? Zsasz rolled his eyes to the side, he almost felt bad, perhaps he should have just killed her to put the lady out of her self-inflicted torment. The hairless man murmured, grin fading behind another step watching her fear spread by the second. “I'm not here to harm you - so how about we just lower the weapon.” He breathes in, “I am unarmed,” His eyes enlarge to stress the matter further.

 

The young woman catches her breath, lowing it gradually but nevertheless far too jumpy on the trigger for his liking. “I know who you are Victor Zsasz, James Gordon informed me on everything, he said you kill people, you work for the mayor!”

 

Well _, okay_ then.

 

“I am also a Sagittarius.” He tries to humor the feeble girl with an impish wink.

 

She doesn’t appreciate it.

 

_Figures._

 

He exhales, and she looks like she’s about to burst into tears.

 

Yet again, good humor wasted and unappreciated.

 

**This always happens.**

 

She takes a small gasp and tries to speak again. “Oh…well, I… Mr. Zsasz, please, I mean you no ill wishes - I appreciate everything, I do! But..I…  please, I never did anything to wrong you, I swear!” Her voice shakes even more than before, she’s truly scared out of her wits.

 

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” He said; It probably didn’t help the situation.

 

“But - but, I didn’t tell Mr. Gordon you saved me, I swear.”

 

Zsasz blinked lazily, marginally in disbelief to what he was hearing, he didn’t save her; he saved no one, ever. She had taken this all wrong and was now twisting it against him!

 

“You _did_ what?”

  


 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I… only mentioned you were here… I guarantee nothing else was spoken of!”

 

You couldn’t control your breathing, it seemed like your heart was about to spring out of your chest all over again. With each pace, the man advanced forward until you felt the abrupt force of the impact ricochet throughout your whole body. His muffled steps were unheard, moving shrewdly like a cat, lithe, sudden, without consequence, as if nothing would knock him from his feet. He didn’t pause till he was inches aside, wrenching the gun out of your sweaty grips.

 

He was suicidal! You could have grievously injured him!

 

Mr. Zsasz yanked at it, separating the object that carried the rounds, scrutinizing then drawing one out into his gloved palm. The hairless man inspected it, exhaled and clipped it back so fluidly you could swear he could disassemble the whole thing and put it back simultaneously with his eyes closed.

 

He was undoubtedly a professional at this, maybe even more so than Jim or Harvey.

 

He turns lowering the weapon and presenting it to you as if you were a child, turning a switch on and off, reciting it repeatedly. “On, off, on, off. If you’re going to have the gall to shoot me, I’d appreciate it if you did it right.”

 

_Oh._

 

You could recall Harvey advising you of the same instruction, he said it differently, but nevertheless, the same. You felt like such a dupe as you cupped your face in your hands. A fool, a wretched, foolish girl you were. Scared of everything. Residing in chronic dread and petrified of your own shadow. A thick cake of makeup concealed the bags under your eyes because the truth was you hadn’t had more than a few hours sleep in days now.

 

“What - are - you - doing?” You heard him say through your large distorted breaths, his presence was disturbing, knitting his hairless brows, one raised higher than the other, with his lips thinned flat matching the glare on his face.

 

Even you did not understand, what were you doing?  Everything felt turned upside down, perfectly wrong, and he, Victor Zsasz couldn’t drop to at least to give you half decent stare, his sinister eyes fixed on your hairline, a band-aid hidden under freshly cut bangs to cover mending scars.

 

His hand raises and abruptly touching your hair so gently his gloves don’t even brush your bruised skin.

 

You trembled incapable of movement, instead; you seal your eyes turning as stiff as a log. Everything you did or said had just made matters worse, the words you ought to express had became jumbled upon your lips. The way you thought and the way it was said had two completely different outcomes.

 

“Why….why won’t you just accept my gratitude? If you're not here to harm me, why must you be so hostile?” You argued, subsequently finding a shred of stability. His hand dropped, and he took a step back, laying your gun back down and to the side, he wasn’t paying attention to you anymore or what you said, it was like he was looking for something, something he couldn’t quite see.

 

He was now fiddling, turning an orchid’s pot slightly to the side, his clad fingers caressing the delicate pastel petals.

 

Why wouldn’t he accept it? He didn’t seem like a man that would fear anything, and you knew fear well. “You’re not going to accept it are you?”

 

Mr. Zsasz only turned to give you a puckered stare and shake of his head like a naughty kid who refused to eat his greens.

 

Was this actually happening right now?

 

This man was insufferable, terrifying, sinister and monstrous… Yet, he defied all your logic as to why he left you breathing on that frightful day, surely he could at least accept your gratitude, was that too hard?

 

You watched the man wander about the store, his eyes purposely avoiding you at all costs. He turns his back, “She aimed a gun and me, and then call me hostile.” Mr. Zsasz mumbles to himself with a snide chuckle.

 

You cross your arms feeling a warmth gather in your face.

 

“Oh, I am sorry,” you grumbled back, “-If I assumed the most notorious hitman in Gotham was going to cause myself harm! I know how this city works Mr. Zsasz, can you condemn me for having at least some self-preservation?”

 

“Perhaps you hurt my feelings.” The man finally allowed you a look.

 

“... I am sorry?”

 

His face drops. “That was sarcasm.”  

 

_You knew that._

 

“Can I ask why you are here then, or would that be too bold of me?” Perhaps... the wrong choice of words.

 

_Too late._

 

One of Zsasz’s eyebrow perks.

 

He opens his mouth, then closes it shortly.  “My -” before he could finish the sudden sound of music almost made you jump out of your skin.

 

_Was that Funkytown?_

 

The hitman hovers a finger in front of his lips flipping open his phone and places it upon his ear. He answers. “ _Wassup_ boss? - Oh you know, a little this and a little of that - No.” Victor pauses, “Yes. _Right._ ” The man exhales through his nostrils and rolls his eyes to the side. You could have sworn he mouthed something arrogant in a mimicking fashion.

 

He slaps the phone closed and breaths out. “Well, this has been fun…” his voice drops.

 

Fun? Nothing made sense… “Sir, before you leave.”

 

_“What?”_

 

You couldn’t believe you were even asking. You couldn’t, you shouldn’t... He had previously done so much, imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up that day, all the things that could have resulted - it could have been so much worse, no matter who he was or what he'd previously done… He still saved you.

 

“That man you let go - on that day… he -” You had to take a breath, to think… to find the right words, it would be so easy to say the improper thing. “S-stole something from me, something I hold very dear. It belonged to my grandmother - a necklace. I was merely asking because --”

 

Mr. Zsasz had met your petitions with suppressed chuckle. “You want to know if I killed him?”

 

No, no, you wished nobody harm. _Not ever._  “No, I was just wondering -”

 

He glances at you if you were in need to hurry up and get to the point.

 

“Oh, never mind. Just… nevermind.” You lower your eyes, it was no use.

 

Victor picked up his lowered weapons and shook his head, “Okie dokie, whatever you say,” the bald man chimed. “Until next time, _toodles.”_

 

Until next time?

 

**Next time?**

 

_What had just happened?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the chapter delay, health issues and such... ugh...


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

From what you had gathered it had been at least a month, and still, you laid in bed there every night and every morning thinking of that day.

 

It wasn’t till you had to physically pry yourself from bed, in which it would all eventually melt away.

 

You spent your day out, _away,_ trying not to forget but more accept and move on, after all that was the only thing you could do, residing in the past was unhealthy and no way to live the life you had once longed for.

 

It was night by the time you had arrived back home, two bags fast in your hands. You struggled to locate and grab your front door keys. Though to no use; the door was open. Unlocked, it opened upon twisting the door handle. Odd, you could have sworn you had locked it, though perhaps you didn’t - it happens _…it does..._

 

Nervously, you decided to laugh it off - _silly you for always making mistakes._

 

I mean, who would want to break in? You scoffed under your breath with a sigh of doubt, you barely had anything of significance to steal, and you yourself were an utter nobody in this big, _big_ metropolis.

 

Regardless, your gradual footsteps inside had caused quite the stir, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, fingers growing numb, your breath falling short at your lips. A faint pitch in the distance had you drop everything to reach for your phone, you were wrong, so wrong… “Police,” your breath shuttered, three numbers dialed as rapid as your fingers could carry.

 

“- I think there’s an intruder in my home...”  

 

_“...Address…”_ was the only thing you heard on the other end.

 

A figure in the distance had you waver, your heart pounding in your ears. A white hand offering a little wave, a single breath you stole. “My mistake.” The phone slapped closed…

 

 

 

 

 

For a moment, nothing was conveyed, instead, you took in every detail around yourself. The lights were faint, curtains still drawn, the television on…. _television on._

 

“Hey there boo.”

 

—And a certain man sitting in front, feet up, smirking with a bowl of half eaten fruit loops.

 

_“Long day?”_

 

You stood there stiff. The alteration of colors of the television making the apartment rose deeper than brighter every changing moment. Even after all this time he had remained the same all in black with the same mischievous and menacing grin.

 

Mr. Zsasz.

 

His spoon clunks back into the bowl, his feet falling down to the floor with a clap. “My apologies, It was this or the Lion King.”

 

Your eyes moved back to the tv, music playing, singing… _A Nightmare Before Christmas…_

 

“Too bad I forgot to wear my waterproof mascara,” The hairless man jested.

 

You had to blink twice in disbelief.

 

Your eyes gesturing back to Mr. Zsasz, a little perplexed. “But... Y-you, don’t have eyelashes.”

 

“Rude,” he scowled, bare eyebrows dropping.

 

Of course…. Of course…. You shook your head, eyes parting - he’s not here to kill you, he’s not here to kill you; you recited in your head. Then why was he here? It meant nothing good and now he was here, no longer out in the open - _here_ , in your home, someplace you once believed was safe. It was no longer safe, nowhere was safe.

 

“Then I assume you’re here on business Mr. Zsasz.” Your voice hums low, you should get your bags - act normal, don’t let him see your fear, you try so hard to remind yourself.

 

“Maybe,” He only murmured.

 

Shuddering at all the ideas why, you start unpacking the bags in the kitchen. “Well then, I’d ask if you want to stay for dinner, but I can see you’ve already helped yourself.”

 

“I could eat - _again,”_ Victor answered lamely.

 

 

 

 

 

Forks scrapped along plates, you remained seated there on the sofa next to a hitman while he swayed his head along with the melody on the movie; it was an odd situation, the whole scenario was bizarre and obscure in so many levels and yet the longer it continued, the deeper you came to realize you didn’t feel in danger, perhaps even…. Well, _safe_ as odd as it was.

 

He saved you after all. _For whatever reason of his own._

 

“The macaroni is good.”

 

“Uh, thank you.” You bobbed your head, lifting both plates to the sink to rinse.

 

Victor waits until the movie was finished before he gathers himself. Turning the TV off and watching you dry the last plate before packing it away.

 

“It’s getting late…”

 

You peer over towards a clock on the wall, was it truly past eleven already? “Oh,” was the only thing you managed to convey.

 

“If you’re getting tired, I’d hate to impose.”

 

Surely if that was certain he would have waited till you arrived home and perhaps knocked instead of breaking in and trespassing. However, to answer his query, no you weren’t tired, not even slightly, your heart was racing, and how matters were lately, sleep was not on the cards.

 

“Further,” He advanced on, “I should probably inform you now that Oswald is increasing the rent next month.”

 

Increasing? Great, this was all you needed to hear. “But, I can scarcely make ends meet now.”

 

Victor simply remained rigid, speaking all business and no games. “This isn’t a choice, if you wanna run your little flower shop on the boss’ turf you gotta pay your dues like everyone else.”

 

He had a point, of course _he did_. It was just going to be harder. You can come up with the cash - somehow, some way, you’ll make by… you have too. You’ll find a way like you always do.

 

You breathed out, wiping your face and feeling the vast amount of stress gather.

 

Zsasz had formed a smirk. “Oh, cheer up, this is Gotham after all. We have a mass genocide every six months. I understand that’s great for florists.”

 

“That’s just... _lovely_ … Mr. Zsasz.”

 

_Why did you have to move here of all places? Why, why, why._

 

“But, anyhow, it’s getting late, I won’t keep you -”

 

“It’s all right, you can stick around.”

 

“Huh?”

 

You could almost slap yourself in the face. “I just meant -” _you didn’t wish to be alone… that’s all._

 

“You mean for -” He clicked his tongue and gave you a perked eyebrow, adjacent to his off look;  A sarcastic, cheeky glimmer, too suggest only… _oh…_

 

“Oh my god, no! How - no, just no…” How could he… how could you… no… no….

 

His face dropped. “Well. _Bummer.”_

 

Oh dear, oh god. You were blushing and turning red like a beetroot. You just knew it. That sass-talking assassin would be the end of you. “I just meant - “You had to let yourself breathe again, or this would end horribly for you. “It’s just I have… ice cream and more movies…”

 

By the looks of his expression, you had him at ice cream. God, he was a peculiar man. “If you have nowhere else to be, that is…” you ended.

 

Mr. Zsasz cocked his head, even after everything he seemed rather obliged to stick around a little longer. “Why stop there boo? Why don’t we paint our nails?” His mouth formed large O.  

 

“Braid each other’s hair?!”

 

_You knew this was going to be the start of something strange…._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...When I came up with the idea for this fic, I was thinking about Dr. Zoidberg and his florist girlfriend, Marianne.  
> Just thought I'd say that now... XD


	6. Chapter 6

 

Time passed on without a word and without sight. It was almost to the extent you could have sworn it never happened. Except it did, and for a matter of fact, things even got better - much better actually. You had never had this much commerce before; it was as if you were the only florist in Gotham.

 

It got to the position where the store was essentially cleaned out after long days. Only now to leave Victor’s remarks running through your mind about funerals and genocides. Still, it didn’t seem like that, people appeared happy upon arriving, smiles and affectionate couples. It was odd - in a good way; at least you could assume.

 

At five in the afternoon, you prepared to lock up, bringing the smaller items in and setting them inside and out of the way. In the meantime, you let your mind wondered deep in reflection... _Enough so to be snuck up on._

 

The front door thudding shut had you almost jump.

 

“Hello Ms. My apologies, did I startle you?”

 

“Mr. Mayor?” Penguin, Oswald Cobblepot was in your store! Done up to the nines, suit and tie, cane in hand with a surprisingly familiar face tagging behind.

 

“Oh, no… of course not - I’d be more than delighted to serve you.” You acknowledged, your eyes never separating the assassin standing guard, his arms tucked tight behind his back.

 

You go to address him, but Victor shakes his head without a word. An obvious _‘Don’t’_

 

“I need to order a large bouquet,”  Oswald raised his head as he spoke. “Of your finest crimson roses.”

 

That was easy enough. “Special occasion sir?”

 

“You could say that!” He countered at once.

 

You began filling out the order, hands shaking just a little from his overwhelming presence.  Meanwhile, Mr. Cobblepot pondered about as you kept yourself busy, glancing around till he remained still with a tender smile.

 

“Lilies,” he raved with a glitter in his eye. “My mother’s favorite, with everything going on of late I haven’t taken some to her grave in quite some time. Still.” He sighed plucking them up from their vase. “It doesn’t help all the other florists within the city’s district have closed shop, Isn’t that curious, Victor?”

 

 _“So weird.”_ Mr. Zsasz responded boredly short after.

 

This was news to you. You did not understand… What had happened? Surely, no… Victor wouldn’t have a hand in this - maybe….

 

“You know dear, on appearance alone I wouldn’t have taken you as an underground schemer.”

 

What did he just call you? Mr. Cobblepot’s sudden sharp tone had drawn you to an immediate pause. “Uh, thank you, Mr. Mayor?” _No, that couldn’t have been a compliment._

 

“I am not finished.” He raised a palm. “-But I’ve been mistaken before. If you have anything to confess, now would be of the essence.”

 

You didn’t know what to say, so you stood still, lips firmly sealed. Did he assume you had attempted to eliminate competition? You of all people?

 

“Boss.” Victor hunched down a little to hush into Oswald’s ear. “She doesn’t seem the type of lady to be carrying an SMG under her dress, but if you want me to pat her down,” The assassin gave you a wink, _“I will.”_

 

 _Pat you down?_ What game was he playing at?

 

“No.” Oswald turned and snapped back, “There is no need for that, Victor.” He turned back to you with a hard expression for clarification, “Is there dear?”

 

Your heart was racing by this point, “No, of course not, I am not hiding anything!”

 

“Good, because if I find out you’ve been working with Ms. Kean or Tabitha, there will be repercussions!” Oswald yelled, “Won’t there Victor?!”

 

“There will, boss?” he stared back at his boss, furrowing his brows, “Oh _right,_ there will.”

 

Oswald glared, furious at you and now at Victor’s absence of effort. “I will have you know now Mr. Zsasz here is very familiar with the arts of torture, I advise not to cross paths with him.” The mayor crossed his arms.

  


You nodded your head rapidly, “Yes! I am sorry, I… I did nothing, I promise!”

 

“You better dear,  or I personally promise Victor Zsasz will be back to give you….”

 

“— A _firm_ spanking,” The assassin filled in.

 

“What?!” His boss yelled

 

“What?” Victor blinked, “No?”

 

“No! _YOU_ fool!”

 

“So…. no spanking?”

 

“NO!” Oswald cupped his face in his hands.

 

Zsasz’s phone buzzes and it turns the whole shop grows deathly silent. He pulls it out and reads the text message to himself.

 

“Who’s that?” Oswald subsequently asks, growing impatient by the second, tapping his foot.

 

“Viola. Uh….” The assassin closes his phone and places it back into the pocket of his black vest, withholding time momentarily. “She found the… ah…. Uhm… y’know.”

 

“Found, the what?!”

 

Victor glimpses at him and tuts his tongue. “The - _you_ know….”

 

“Just speak!”

 

He moaned in submission, “The duffel bag, boss.”

 

“My father?!”

 

Zsasz winces a little _“Uh-huh,_ that’s the one.”

 

“Where?!”

 

“Trust me, boss, you don’t wanna know.” Victor swallowed.

 

 _“AH!_ Ed will pay for this!” Oswald now thundered, “You.” He peered back at yourself pointing his finger, “Have the flowers sent to me ASAP, It appears I have more urgent matters at hand.”

 

Mr. Cobblepot left in a hot rage, but more so left you remaining absolutely bewildered.

 

Hopefully, that would be the last time you’d see the likes of him, though you doubted it, he was mayor after all.

 

Victor gave you a smile and a wave goodbye on the way out.

 

You waved back.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set shortly after Season 3: episode 15
> 
> Which incidentally happens to have my personal favourite Oswald - Edward scene... XD
> 
> Oswald: But my father's remains -- you stole them from his grave?  
> Edward: Yup.  
> Edward: Don't worry. He's at peace now.  
> Edward: I gently placed his remains -- inside a dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

 

_ Home. _

 

You missed how warm and welcoming a place could feel. After today it seemed highly likely you could crawl into bed and never return. Alas, Mr. Cobblepot would most likely not be too pleased with that result, he seemed rather adamant on getting those flowers as soon as possible for whatever his particular reason was, and you, especially did not want to cross him anytime soon after such threats.

 

You could imagine what that would entail, a man of his stature could most likely do anything he wanted, destroy anything he pleased, people included. You groaned wearily, tired, and a tad upset after everything, nobody enjoys being yelled at straight to their face, little alone for no apparent reason.

 

It would take some time to think it all over, everything that happened, everything that had been spoken. The Mayor was an odd little man, stern and straight to the point. He had always seemed so elegant on the television; I guess people aren’t all they seem. Victor on the other hand, well, he was just as perplexing as usual; you weren’t sure what he wanted half the time, sometimes he was intense, other times playful in a frightening sense; you hadn’t exactly figured him out yet or what his endgame was. Though you had to believe he had no resolve to harm you, at least not yet.

 

In the meantime dinner was definitely on the menu, something to warm you up and comfort that inner ache. You digress into the kitchen, only to open the fridge when something snags your eye, a slip of paper that had been folded in half and appended to the front, a little magnet holding it in place.

 

_ ‘Meet me on the roof at 8. V.’ _

 

You looked up at the ceiling, roof? Right, apartment. You had never been to the top floor before. How did you even get up there, was it even allowed? Then again, it wasn’t like Mr. Zsasz had a problem with breaking a few rules; he was a troublemaker after all.

 

What were you getting yourself into? This was  _ absurd _ , he was crazy for making you come up here. You found the last exit down the corridor to the left, a big heavy door that was almost too hard to push. When the cold air touched your face an instant shiver shook your entire body, forcing you pull your coat tighter across your chest for warmth. It was hard to see from the bright lights of the hall’s to the sudden open darkness of the night sky; you had to admit though, the view of the surrounding city was entirely something else.

 

“Victor?” You called out through the darkness, “are you up here?” The man himself didn’t strictly stand out, he wore all black. _ “Mr. Zsasz?” _

 

_ “Warmer.” _

 

You walked towards the voice and a light in the distance in which drew you in like a moth to a flame. “Why are you up here of all places?” Your teeth chattered away, “It’s freezing up here.”

 

Finally, you glimpsed the assassin, sitting by the edge with his arms firmly across his chest. He didn’t answer you.

 

“Mr. Zsasz, are you okay?”

 

He appears to stand and you stop, your heart pounds inside your chest as if you noticed something was evidently off. “I am sorry it has come to this, boo. If it’s any consolation, I won’t enjoy this either, you really seem like a good girl.”

 

Victor lowers his eyes, a hand entering into his coat, your breath pauses. A single familiar pistol is within his clutch. He was attaching a long cylinder like object to the end. “No one will hear this, I can promise you.”

 

_ “But -”  _ Your mind couldn’t keep up with your mouth, your head spun, you felt physically sick, “I didn’t think - Oh my god. I don’t want to die, Victor, please, I’ll do anything! If you want me to leave town I will, I’ll leave and never come back, Please, Mr. Cobblepot has to believe I did nothing. Please, I swear on my life!”

 

You pleaded sincerely and honestly. Victor only lowered his brows and gave you a puzzled expression. “What?”

 

_ “Pardon?” _

 

He drops his weapon and strolls forward, cocking his head and seeming just a tad too amused for your liking.

 

“I am not here to kill you.”

 

You froze. “But - but, you said…”

 

_ “I didn’t.” _

 

“Yes, you did!” You argued back.

 

“Huh.” Victor looked away, raising his brows once again and letting out a modest chuckle, “My bad. I was actually gonna give you shooting lessons, I felt it would be more entertaining than sitting in your...  _ funky _ smelling apartment.”

 

You felt like screaming. “My home doesn’t smell ‘funky’ Mr. Zsasz. It’s my lilac perfume, and if you had a problem with it all you had to do was say something… furthermore, I don’t want shooting lessons, Harvey already tried to teach me, you know how that went!” You suddenly felt extremely vexed.

 

The hairless man shook his head, bringing up the name Harvey and put a rotten taste in his mouth. “Boo, he’s sciatica and a walking drinking problem, no wonder why!” Victor palmed his face.

 

“That’s awfully rude Victor, Mr. Bullock is a lovely person and gives wonderful hugs, unlike someone I know.” You eye him off. “I can’t believe you made me assume you had ill attentions towards me! Can’t you phrase things in a… I don’t know, a non-sinister way?”

 

Victor looked at you like you were the one with the problem “No.”

 

Figures. You grumble to yourself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was really no point at all.

 

Literally none.

 

You had taken a deep breath and yet your head still spun. Hands clenched, Victor had molded your fingers like clay till they held perfection.

 

And even then.

 

Again…

 

_ “Pull.” _

 

Another shot went off and nothing happened, the only sound was Victor inhaling, a hand placed to his chin, stroking with a foul presence of scrutiny. He was generally amazed at how truly terrible you were.

 

That’ll teach him for not trusting you.

 

You tried to warn him.

 

You didn’t even want to do this.

 

He practically dragged you into this.

 

You didn’t even understand why he cared enough. Unless this was all simply a giant game, in which it probably was. He seemed to enjoy watching you flounder and struggling to shy away.

 

He liked you holding his pistol, tailoring your fingers,  _ touching _ and moving them. He didn’t say it, he didn’t have too. You could read people enough to catch on.

 

“I find it hard to understand how someone can actually be that bad.”

 

Yes, well. Your mind wasn’t exactly clear tonight and thrilled with his whole idea. His coaching techniques either, _ ‘Just think that glass bottle on the end is Oswald’s right shin.’ _ Yes, because that’s immensely helpful…

 

You sighed, now even more tired and cold.

 

“You know Mr. Zsasz, I didn’t come up here to play your games.” You addressed him in a matter-of-factly, handing his weapon back into his hands with a shove. “I would rather have answers that I feel I am entitled to know. Like why exactly I had the Mayor come into my store and throw threats in my face. And don’t say you don’t know, because I full well-”

 

Your wrath had been suddenly halted in its place by a single finger paused at your lips.

 

“Shhh…” The assassin hushes. “Awh, you’re so cute when you’re frustrated.”

 

You were angry and turning a crimson shade...and he...he was cooing at you like you were a little kitten begging for his attention.

 

The man finally pouted his lips into a grimace, he couldn’t keep it a secret even if he wished, what would be the fun in that? “Fine. If it’s that important to you.” He breathed, withdrawing his finger and giving you a little boop on the nose. “It was me. _ Shocking _ , I know.” He confessed nonchalantly.

 

You knew it! You just knew it, it embarrassed you to feel a little pride.  _ “I knew it! _ You did something mischievous behind my back, didn’t you?  _ Why?  _ After everything everybody said, I didn’t want to believe it. James said you were…” you didn’t want to repeat his actual word. “-Ah, scoundrel, -Cold…”  

 

_ “Cold. _ ..really?” Zsasz interrupted you there. “Boo, you have the wrong ‘Victor,’ Fries is the cold one, I am the _ hot  _ one.” He threw you a playful wink.

 

You choked on your own words, gosh he was so...so… EH. You had to cup your face, allowing yourself a minute. “Just please - please - tell me no one was harmed.”

 

A hand gave you a little pat on the shoulder. It didn’t reassure you at all, not even the slightest. It’s more sarcastic, more of a  _ ‘cheer up, it could be worse, you could be dead’  _ sort of way.

 

“Awh boo, it’s okay, no one died -” He paused for a second, “Well, that...I am aware of… I just had a couple of contacts of mine pull in a few favors. It would be such a shame if a few extra zeros were added into protection fees around the city wouldn’t it, oopsies.”

 

Oops? Oops?! He destroyed people’s livelihoods because...why? You could gain more customers? You wanted to curl into a ball all over again. No wonder Mr. Cobblepot wandered why something sinister was going on, he was right all along. It was just all beyond your knowledge!

 

And now you’re getting the blame for Victor’s ill error in judgment.

 

_ “And Oswald?” _

 

“I forgot, it happens.”

 

Right. Of course. Just forget about your poor boss’ dead mother.

 

You could cry right now, being tired and cold. Angry and fed up. “I am going back to my apartment now Victor. Goodnight.”

 

He scorns you when you pull away, looking down at his watch. “It’s only nine.” He says like it’s too early to leave.

 

“And I am going to bed.”

 

_ “Want me to tuck you in?” _

 

You don’t allow him any more encouragement, giving him only a blank stare back as you leave.

 

You can imagine precisely what he’s thinking, you’re thinking about it as well. You weren’t exactly being fun.

 

Your last glimpse of Victor Zsasz was him shaking his head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for being so slow to update these days. Thanks for reading <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY, fast update :DD 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

 

This was a mistake.

 

An awful, terrible, mistake.

 

It was  _ all _ Leslie’s fault.

 

It  _ was _ peer pressure.

 

How could  _ you _ be such a blatant fool?

 

The surrounding blankets did nothing, over your head and slung around your shoulders. In theory, you supposed it would make you feel safer; well, guess what? It didn’t.

 

‘You should watch these movies,’ she suggested, ‘They’re fantastic.’ Be that as it may, they were also utterly horrifying. Evil clowns and ancient demons. Could it get any worse? Yes,  _ yes, _ it could.

 

You jolted at the next scene, sulking into the nearest cushion.

 

Monsters aren’t real, monsters aren’t real.

 

They aren’t, they are all make-believe.   

 

Forcing yourself to accept your own lies ultimately did nothing, this was Gotham, the land of the weird and bizarre. A place in which would you be futile not to be apprehensive of the dark, the horrors that crept within were all real.

 

Not of ghosts, ghouls nor demons, but people, humans. “Do not fear the dead,” Granny used to say to your much younger self, “They can’t hurt you. It’s the living you should be wary of.”

 

She was right.

 

She  _ was _ always right.

 

At moments like this, you regretted not taking up Victor’s lessons. He was the best at what he did, and yet you were too frustrated at him at him to take anything he said too seriously. You hadn’t seen him since; perhaps he was annoyed with you. He had tried to help in his own absurd way. It was kind in a sense he even came to think of helping you.

 

_ Though what was the cost? _

 

Even so, you had been even too far ashamed to tell Jim of the times you had been up close and personal with the assassin. You could just imagine what he would come to think of you, but worse, a part of you enjoyed his company - missed it even. Sometimes you turn on the evening news and hope to see something,  _ anything. _

 

You wouldn’t dare ask Jim.

 

Was it such a bad thing you hoped he was okay? Was it?   

 

You had tried to forget about it, put everything far in the past, him, the incident, your lost necklace. There was no point in being upset about things you could no longer change. It was all gone now, and here in the present, you sat alone with nothing but a small slither of hope.

 

At least on the bright side, Mr. Cobblepot had been too busy dealing with his latest controversy to stop by again, you had to be thankful for that.

 

Though you hadn’t told Jim about that confrontation either, you thought it would only make him even more concerned, and for that matter, you were most likely correct. The man got overly uptight about these sorts of things, and unnecessary stress was something you had no intent to leave on someone.

 

Besides, the last time you had seen him was two weeks prior at the precinct, in which you had taken up the task of catering for Detective Alvarez's surprise birthday party.

 

It seemed like a good thing to do at the moment to take your mind off other related matters.

 

You had always loved to cook.

 

It was just a pity you took as long as it did to realize your shoe-box of a kitchen was not in any way destined to withstand the consumable force of over a sixty-two singly iced cupcakes.

 

It was a dark time, indeed.

 

In the means, you tried to think of a warm, happy place, damn the stupid clown on the telly that made you second guess the shadows. This was it, you would never go to a circus ever again.

 

Then again, he transforms into what you fear most.

 

Oh dear.

 

You could just imagine it.

 

A giant _… monstrous_ …  red velvet cupcake.

 

You shivered at the thought. It would be a true horror.

 

The movie continued on and you found yourself sinking further into your large gathering of blankets and pillows, a barricade of sorts that resembled more now like Helm’s Deep.

 

The next jump scare had the pillows crumble around you, a half sobbed scream trembled from your lips, then a much larger one. Oh god, not the teeth, anything but the teeth. You closed your eyes. At least by yourself, no-one can tease you for being a coward.

 

The best part about it being over, was well... it was over.

 

You now sat there in the dark, still completely bundled up.

 

It was like you had basically forgotten how dark, darkness truly was.

 

And It was terrifying.

 

For a split second as the credits ended. Gosh, your heart could seriously race. After everything, you were generally surprised you haven’t had a heart attack yet.

 

_ Yet… _ it was still on the cards.

 

It was like every sound around you had suddenly become louder and much more noticeable, the clock on the wall… tick, tick, tock… The neighbors and their consent bickering through the paper-thin walls, the cars whooshing by outside, a baby crying…. Footsteps in the hall.

 

_ Eeee. _

 

This was a bad idea.

 

A dreadful idea.

 

Monsters aren’t real!

 

They aren’t.

 

_ They aren’t! _

 

You can’t help but notice it’s getting louder, closer.

 

It almost sounds like pacing.

 

You decide to abandon the sofa, transporting the blankets along for the ride.

 

The sound still hadn’t ceased.

 

In fact, you were almost certain it had grown nearer.

 

You weren’t positive why you did it, there was genuinely no reason for such a foolhardy judgment.

 

Perhaps you were just a bit more disturbed than you realized.

 

It could help.

 

_...In theory. _

 

The little locked box that bore your only legitimate weapon.

 

If only you had received granny’s old silverware, now that would be helpful, a true weapon; you almost wept as your hands trembled.

 

Your mind jumped to the worst scenario, a fear that infested your dreams for so long.

 

The man that Mr. Zsasz let go at your shop would come back to finish the job. Take retribution upon you for his killed crew members.

 

_ Oh no, no. _

 

Your necklace, the pendant, small pictures inside, he’d know what you looked like, he would not forget.

 

_ Damn it. _

 

This was worse than an evil clown with the teeth.

 

This was real.

 

_ REAL. _

  
  


Ah, what did the assassin man tell you? Oh, remember you silly goose. You closed your eyes and tried to picture back.

 

It was at night; freezing and dark…

 

_ “Want me to tuck you in?” _ Oh my….

 

_ NOT HELPFUL. _

 

Not helpful in the slightest!

 

_ He did look rather dashing when he said it. _

 

Grrrr.

 

Breathe.

 

_ Breathe, _ damn it.

 

Right!

 

Bingo!

 

He said to breathe! Calm yourself girl, steady yourself - steady - steady - breathe.

 

Inhale.

 

_ Exhale. _

 

Inhale.

 

You _ breathed _ out, opening your eyes - the door handle was jerking. The slight amount of light beaming through the window had caught it almost too perfectly through the dark.

 

_ HA! HA! I got you now you - you -  you, snaggle-toothed disheveled sack of potatoes! _

 

Looking back on it now, this was probably the worst idea you’ve ever had.

 

And to be frank, you’ve had a lot.

 

_...Considering you once thought starting a florist shop in Gotham was a grand endeavor. _

 

Look where that got you.

 

_ Here. _

 

You’re not sure whether it was the jump that made you squeeze when the door began to creep open, or just some kind of survival Instinct that took over.

 

The second time, however, was directly out of sheer panic.

 

To quote Mr. Zsasz, _ ‘Oopsies’  _ was an appropriate statement of the whole situation.

 

But, in the end, one factor was left remaining - who was more shocked?

 

You for basically assuming you had just committed murder...  

 

Or him… for releasing not only _ YOU _ had shot him, but he was indeed shot,  _ twice at that. _

 

_ Oh dear. _

 

“Victor?!” You had screamed.

 

_ It couldn’t be. _

 

No, no, no, no…

 

His eyes upon you looked wide and blank, a hand to his collar, compressing hard. The assassin slouched, legs wobbling like jelly as you rushed towards him.

 

  
_ “Shoulda knocked,”  _ He collapses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

`


	9. Chapter 9

 

Victor closes his eyes, when he awakens it hadn’t seemed like seconds more a collection of dragged out moments.  
  
‘ _-No - Hospital_ -’ Had been the last thing on the tip of his tongue before a deafening sound of sheer terror had taken over. Now he just laid there, eyes half closed, everything was becoming oddly bleak. Why did he feel so wet? So paper thin? Hot yet cold…  
  
He now recalls the sound, how could he have forgotten.  
  
_Blood._  
  
That would explain a lot.  
  
How much could you lose before you eventually bleed out? He should know this… maybe three or four pints? What is that - like two litres? Ah, a carton of milk, maybe two.  
  
_That’s lotta milk._  
  
Voices around him converse, two, he guesses. His hand feels strangely tight yet he doesn’t retain any energy to move it.  
  
He wishes he could, it’s becoming uncomfortable fast.  
  
“Victor - Mr. Zsasz? Oh, please tell me he isn’t dead?!”  
  
_“Only on the inside Daisy,”_ Another woman’s voice explains.  
  
They both sound terribly familiar…  
  
Before he can figure it out, yet again everything grows dark.  
  


 

 

  
  
In the dawn Victor wakes to the distinctive sound of birds chirping outside by the window. This bed, it smells strange… it feels - odd… he can’t put his finger on it, why does it feel so - so ... abnormal.  
  
He takes a moment to register the surroundings. He was indeed inside a bedroom he had never seen, despite the scent becoming far too recognizable. The burn in his upper chest however, keeps him put.  
  
“Victor, you’re awake! I _assumed_ \- I thought… Oh,  _never mind,_ I am so so sorry! I never meant you any harm. to think, I could have killed you!” The girl hovering above him delivered, she basically looked the same way he felt on the inside.  
  
Her skin was pale and pasty and hair like she had come in contact with an out-of-control leaf-blower. Lower down, her forearm had been bound twice over, messy and stained red.  
  
Had he caused that? He did not recall.  
  
“What -” his mouth felt like cotton, sucking at his teeth, _“happened?”_  
  
The young girl swallowed a nervous gulp stuck in her throat, hands shaking as she takes his arm.  
  
It’s not nearly as reassuring as you assume.  
  
The door opens, and she snaps back with a shock and the assassin reacts in a similar fashion.  
  
“Oh my god, I don’t know. Look for a fucking shovel or something… it’s behind the sofa...-” Viola pauses and glares back at Victor, sharing an intense, awkward moment before clearing her throat into her phone. “Shit. Don’t worry, he’s alive!”  
Zsasz blinked and Viola hung up unexpectedly.  
  
_“Lola said hi boss.”_

  
  


 

 

 

  
You didn’t know what to think.

Part of you was still in sheer dismay, scared and pretty much every other bad feeling you could name at the top of your head. You could have murdered him! _HIM,_ Victor Zsasz, he had always been super nice.

A little unsettling at times, _true,_ but mostly nice.

Unlike Viola. That woman stirred something deep inside you.

It’s not like he offered you much choice, he said _no_ hospitals, you couldn’t let him perish. Instead, you did the only thing you could do, surely a dying man wouldn’t gripe about privacy too much, she had been the last person he had sent a text too.

How were you supposed to know she would be… no, you should be grateful. She had saved his life after all. You were just being _prickly_ because you couldn’t slip the suspicion that a part of Viola reveled in seeing Mr. Zsasz in pain, that and she seemed to be over joyed in using you as his personal blood bag for her dying boss.

Blood type might as well be the only thing you have in common with Victor, besides midnight movies and ice cream binges.

Regardless, he was waking up now, he had been out for two whole days. After only the first you had been itching to call literally anyone else. Only you had stayed true to Zsasz’s requests and ultimately hers, she said it was like a walk in the park for him; he had been through this before. It explained the marks all over his body, there was so many, whenever you close your eyes you can still picture them.

The scars on his arms though, they were unlike anything else _… almost like self inflicted trophies._

 

 

 

  
_“The - fuck…”_

Victor choked as attempted to sit up, his right side felt like it had been... _well, shot twice._

_'That’s going to hurt in the morning,'_ was a total understatement.

Still, that had been his least concern upon watching the cheap cotton sheets ripple down his chest.

“The fuck?!” He reiterated once more, drawing the attention from the two ladies who now stared aimlessly.

It wasn’t that he been stripped down that was triggering alarm bells, it’s what they replaced instead. The man of few colors now adorned an entirely new shade.

Victor had a strong inkling it did not complement his eyes or complexion _at all._

No, because a large baggy pink shirt that says, _' I wuv kittens,'_ doesn’t fucking suit anyone.

“I am sorry, Mr. Zsasz it was the only thing I had that would have fit you!” Unfortunately even your sweet pleas had done nothing for the hitman who only scowled in Viola’s direction for someone to blame.

_“You let this happen?”_

The woman in black shrugged her shoulders with her arms tightly folded across her chest. It was like his words went right through her; she was obviously still holding quite the grudge.

_The woman was never good at letting things go._

“No,” Finally escaped her lips, in which turned to similar mischievous grin aimed back at yourself.  _“I helped.”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the super long pauses in updates. I just started a new full time job so.. I've had less time to focus on /literally/ anything else.
> 
> Also if it's any consolation I can't even write Victor Zsasz anymore without hearing NoHo Hank's fucking accent. WHY. JUST WHY. XD  
> It's like.... _**super**_ distracting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A late chapter... but a chapter none-the-less. I guess you could say it's 50/50 with ....disco-ball???? *Dances*

 

 

 

 

The silence was overwhelming.

 

That and the wet rag ringing out deep within a bucket of water, each twist was causing your heart pound a beat faster. Shattered fragments of glass under your nails dug deeper with each scrub, the water had turned a deep murky red _again._

 

These stains on the floor would not budge, the perspiration beading off your brow and the pang in your elbows screamed it out loud. Regardless, you had to do something, anything; the silence was driving you as mad as these stubborn stains.

 

You groan, tired, exhausted, physically… _mentally…_

 

Your heart throbbed, a trembled fake smile, eyes so dry it burned to blink.

 

Your fingers finally let go, they rattled, soaked, cold… you were on your aching knees, fingers threading through the rough of the carpet, cream, pink _, red._

 

You could scream if you had it within you.

 

Mostly you feel flat, numb even.

 

It hasn’t sunk in yet, maybe it has. It doesn’t feel right, everything feels upside down and nothing makes much sense. It simply feels cold, you forgot to close the windows.

 

That’s probably why. 

 

_Hopefully._

 

Your phone rings from the kitchen, you miss it by a few seconds. Shortly after a message pops up.

 

It’s an address within the city, apartment building. ‘ _Room sixty-six on the sixth floor.’_

 

_[ ‘Do you have food? Bring food. ]_

 

It’s not from _Victor._

 

_But close enough._

 

 

* * *

  


 

Apparently, the sixth floor didn’t exist.

 

Yet at the same time… 

 

_Did._

 

It would have been nice to have known that from the beginning, then again you had a feeling that was the point. It wasn’t quite unknown that one of Victor’s female 'companions’ hadn’t explicitly taken light to your company, or that shared with Mr. Zsasz.

 

Thus, making you feel confused and lost for thirty minutes apparently was within a justifiable retaliation.

 

Lucky, a woman at the front counter was sympathetic enough to point you in the right direction towards an elevator. A key passed over locked securely in your grasp, old and large, blackened iron, old fashion like a wrought-iron fence… and a key chain. A disco ball.

 

Very… _. Victor._

 

You followed the directions as recalled, put the key here and it will take you to the sixth floor… this all seemed oddly sinister.

 

At least it worked.

 

The grocery bags were cutting into your arms at this point as you entered the mysteriously dark floor. Room after you room you counted down, sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty ...six _._

 

A vast black door caught your eye, large, very pompous and heavy looking. No door knob on the outside, handy, you exhale. 

 

... _Yet_ a door knocker above, it reminded you of that ring Victor wears. A big silver skull with a ring placed securely within its jaws. 

 

Just a tad bit menacing.

 

You knock twice and then once more. 

 

Moments mold over in silence until you hear footsteps on the other end, chains clanking… unlocking.

 

Creepy, creepy, _creepy…_

 

_“Oh hi,_ it’s you.” A familiar dark-haired woman approaches you without a sliver of a smile, she almost looks down on you, well, it’s either that or her giant shoes that quite literally force her to tower over you.

 

“I got your message…” It slips from your lips, you’re more than eager to abandon these bags wherever that may be, who knew they could get so heavy so fast.

 

Viola scopes you out, her eyes on your face, your clothes, down to the bags swinging from your elbows.

 

The taller woman steps aside, letting you enter without uttering a word. The place is spacious, you’re not sure what you imagined, or where you expected Victor Zsasz to dwell but it almost feels wrong to be here… 

 

It’s all so bizarre. So open and yet so gloomy. Dark walls, dark furniture, then there’s the odd surge of color. A fuschia zebra rug of all things, a whole bunch of sofas pushed together… is that a bean-bag? 

 

Your head swam, walking past a large kitchen table with at least ten odd chairs assembled. On top was a crystal fruit bowl that bore no fruit… no, it was generous of… where those bullets? Very classy Mr. Zsasz…. 

 

Viola snaps you out of your stupor. “The kitchen is over there, Daisy.” She points to a large open kitchen, black marble, who would have guessed… where was Victor?

 

He did live here, right?

 

You shed your bags on the counter; the cupboards were almost empty and the fridge even more so… didn’t someone around here go to the grocery store once in a while _? Apparently_ not. 

 

“Is… Mr. Zsasz home?” you finally asked softly, once the woman had come back to check on you, you could have almost sworn her eyes glazed over. She shifts her head back into the living room, the television was on, the volume so low you barely noticed it was... 

 

Upon getting closer you caught a man, Mr. Zsasz, sitting up straight with his head slightly slouched...asleep and relatively harmonious. Oddly enough, attired in lounge-wear, it was funny to think you had never seen the hitman before now wear nothing but a snappy suit… 

 

Now, he simply bore a pair of black track pants, shirtless with one arm through a dress shirt and the other arm free to be bound in a white sling. 

 

And… hand-knitted fuzzy slippers. 

  
  


 

 

  
  


You didn’t want to wake him.

 

He must be in so much pain, you think, bruised and battered as he is… 

 

You go to move but your foot hits the floor a little too loud, one ebony eye cracks open looking precisely at you. 

 

You aren’t sure who’s more shocked that you’re inside his home; he takes a moment and shakes his head. “What. Did you come to finish the job?” 

 

A wise guy. You’re a little relieved he still possesses a sense of humor after everything and to be honest and you’d be happy to return it after everything. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead,” You recited his own words back to him.

 

Victor made a face, following a hard _‘oof’_

 

“No, I came to help out, silly goose,” You try to chuckle. “I got a message to bring-”

 

Before you can finish he had already knitted his hairless brows together in a rather frustrated bunch, “from...who?”

 

A voice from behind you fills in the blanks. “You said to get a cheap maid, so….”

 

Victor looks over your shoulder, battering his eyelids, he doesn’t look happy. 

 

He says nothing, he simply tilts his head and you can’t help but notice it appears as if he’s clenching his jaw rather hard.

 

“...You said…”

 

Victor doesn’t break his stance.

 

You felt awkwardly placed in between.

 

Viola crossed her arms and blurted out, “You said to get a girl that was cheap and expendable, it’s not my fault you didn’t use specifics!”

 

“Anyways,” she huffed and advanced. “Don’t act as you’ve never wanted to see her on those pretty little knees. I thought it was a win-win situation.” 

 

Huh?

 

You were a little dazed. What did you just walk into? You looked at both of them, first Viola than back to Zsasz.

 

What was she even insinuating?

 

Be his maid… on your knees…

 

“Oh…” you gasped.

 

_“Oooh.”_

 

You swallowed. _“Oh.”_

 

Viola shook her head, “So precious.” 

 

Victor looked away and Viola grabbed her bag.

 

She brushes your shoulder on the way out, whispering just loud enough so Zsasz could overhear. “Whatever you do, don’t go into the third room on the left…” she gives a little wink. “It’s where we keep the whips.”

 

When the door closes you look back at the hitman for answers who is strangely silent.

 

Victor’s upper lip curls and his eyes glaze slightly to the right. 

 

…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I picture Victor's home I often picture something out Saint's Row for some reason... that or abandoned disco club *shrugs*
> 
> Question for the readers. What's your favourite pet-name? ...or even better, least favourite... XD 💔🖤


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re sure that’s not a frying pan?” 
> 
> You stare down at the pan and the iron bowl-like structure, then back up at him. “I am sure.” 
> 
> “Positive?” 
> 
> “Yes.”

 

While Victor was busy, being _… well, Victor,_ you decided to make yourself more useful.

 

_...And not in a ‘maid’ sort of way._

 

Because that was just derogatory and plain cruel. . .

 

After finally deciding, you vote to make dinner for both of you. Now, you just couldn’t find the- “Mr. Zsasz, where’s your frying pan?” You call to another room.

 

Victor turns his head from watching the TV, his one good arm dangled over the back of the sofa. He points to the right to a cupboard above your head and goes back to watching.

 

You open the doors and part of you is somewhat taken back. “That’s a wok Mr. Zsasz.” 

 

It takes a moment for him to get back to you, in the meantime, you tap your foot.

 

“Hm?” He grumbles, “Oh -” Victor gives you a slight look. “What’s the difference?” 

 

At that moment you can feel your jaw tighten and your knuckles twist; _just a little_ . “Uhm, you know...basically _everything._ ” you figure that might have come out a little stern, even for someone as soft-spoken as you.

 

It gets a reaction out of the hitman at least, he narrows his eyes towards and shakes his head in a ‘you’re so needy,’ kind of fashion. Shortly after the TV gets switched off, and he slowly rises with a slight wobble. 

 

“You shouldn’t be standing-” You say, not that he takes any of it in, and yes he looks like he’s in a hell of a lot of pain, grimacing with each step. 

 

He joins you in the kitchen and opens each cupboard door above your head. Granted he’s a lot taller than you it must be easier to see what’s up there better than you. Still, he clicks his tongue and slams each shut one after the other. Finally, glancing back down at you and what’s in your hand.

 

“You’re sure that’s not a frying pan?” 

 

You stare down at the pan and the iron bowl-like structure, then back up at him. “I am sure.” 

 

“Positive?” 

 

_“Yes.”_

 

Victor sucks at his teeth and takes the pan from your hand. With his one good hand, he holds it, studying it gently, then swings it ever so slightly like a baseball bat and makes a soft murmur. “Kinda off-balanced, isn’t it?

 

Oh my god, you swallow and close your eyes, letting out a large breath of air. “Victor!”

 

Mr. Zsasz sees your face, letting out an _‘oops’_ kind of chuckle. 

 

“Why the _fuck_ do I have a wok?” 

 

You don’t know…

 

You truly don’t know.

  


 

 

 

  
  
  


It’s safe to say a home-cooked dinner was off the menu for tonight, and takeout definitely a fine replacement. If you had learned anything from today, it was now you had finally come to grips with why Victor Zsasz comes to your home so hungry all the time.

 

Honestly, it explains a lot.

 

Like, literally _ALL_ of it.

 

The poor dear. You have to feel a tad bit sorry for the guy.

 

_Just a little._

  
  


Considering you nearly killed him last week you find yourself feeling a lot more compassion for Mr. Zsasz, that, or it’s overwhelming guilt.

 

Perhaps both.

 

_Most likely both._

 

He catches you watching him nonchalantly, lowering his slice of pizza. “What?” 

 

It’s not that you were looking at - maybe you should just ask. “Those scars on your arms-”

 

“Oh.” It seems like you caught him a little off guard, but he shrugs it off. He does something after that catches you just the same, “I’ll show you mine _if_ you show me yours.” His eyes peer down at your lifting sleeve.

 

You find yourself drawn back, trying to fix your shirt as quickly as possible - then you freeze and look back up, breathing out. “I - _fine…”_

 

And like that he places his arm out over your lap and you give him yours.

 

You both face each other, quietly. Rolling up his sleeve you notice the scars more clearly, their odd consistency, how they are all the same size, form and design. _Tally marks._

 

He’s an assassin, you think - it’s not so hard to put it all together. Still, you gasp a little, “There’s so many.” 

 

He gives you a gentle nod, “Thanks.”

 

You eye him down, _“That’s not a compliment.”_

 

Mr. Zsasz narrows his eyes.

 

You shake your head, your fingers trailing the scars to the ones that were the lightest in shade - the first one was far deeper than the others.

 

Intrigued slightly, you point the one you could only be assumed as the third and asked him, “So, what’s the story behind this one?”

 

Victor bobs his head and sucks at his teeth, “That one?” he clarifies pointing to the very same.

 

“Yes.” 

 

If anything, he seemed a little… embarrassed… if that was even a thing.

 

“Oh, well -” He breathes in shortly, “I might have accidentally reversed over...someone.”

 

“What?” 

 

Mr. Zsasz pulls his arm away and scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, I thought it was a dog, it was super traumatic.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 It’s probably a good thing that Victor has rendered you silent.

 

You feel terribly vulnerable at the guy eyeballing your tender scars.

 

‘Broken glass.’ you explain to him, it was the first time you had met him - when he saved you - when his bullets shattered the windows, they saved you - through it had still left a mark… _or several._

 

You try not to think about it and he doesn’t question anymore. 

 

They look so hideous you think. 

 

It’s why you hide them under thick sleeves - people look, ask - and all you want to do is put it behind you and act like it never happened.

 

If you forget, maybe everyone else will too.

 

“I wish they would just...go away,” you whisper softly.

 

Victor doesn’t care, he only caresses his thumb across your wrist and oddly enough, gives you a brash grin. “Why? I think they make you look badass.” 

 

Badass? You glare at him in question.

 

“―Like Mulan.” 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon, I know, miracles happen ! ! ! 🙀


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Another chapter 🖤🦇🔪

 

 

 

 

_Badass?_ You couldn’t help but chuckle… no one had ever called you that before and actually meant it.

 

Not ever.

 

You had to admit… _you rather liked it._

 

Yawning, you figured it was getting pretty late. It was cold, and you had previously draped a soft woolen blanket around Victor’s shoulders, eventually; he drew you closer to share it while you both watched a movie. By now you couldn’t fully make out what it was, something old, black and white and the sound was now merely for the background noise alone, considering your eyes were barely open.

 

Zsasz was being awfully quiet even for him, maybe he was asleep, you didn’t want to wake him - that being said, if you moved right now, you would also wake him. _Great,_ you sigh tiredly. It looks like you would be sleeping here tonight. 

 

Next to Mr. Zsasz.

 

Hopefully, he doesn’t mind.

 

You fall asleep easily curled up next to him, perhaps too easy. For someone who supposedly doesn’t have a heart, Victor sure is toasty warm.

 

You wake up in the morning tucked under the hitman’s arm as if he’s some kind of mother bird keeping his fragile little chick alive, which in a way, he most likely is. 

 

Gradually, your gentle movement lures him too awake, yawning and moving his arm away to give it a long, much-needed stretch. You’re both stiff from sleeping on the sofa and he inches away, taking the warmth with him. “That you, boo?” You hear the assassin grumble with another sleepy yawn.

 

“Yeah.” Who else would it be, you wipe your eyes. “Did you sleep… well?” 

 

He stammered a little and smoothed his sore shoulder. “Nope,” he hummed tucking his palm under his cheek. 

 

“Bad dream,” He eventually revealed in a lethargic state.

 

Bad? Christ, you could only imagine what kind of dreams Mr. Zsasz had... Victor had taken countless lives -

 

Imagine all the things he’s seen…

 

The look in people’s eyes...

 

How they plead as they take their last breath.

 

You get shivers just thinking about it.

 

“Bad?” You inquire softly leaning forward.

 

Victor nods his head, takes a breath and opens his eyes to frown his hairless brow. “I got… _Jumped.”_

 

Now you’re frowning too, “by whom?”

 

He looks at you, a little perplexed, “By a giant….” it was like he didn’t know what he was seeing. “ _Furry_ …?”

 

“What…”

 

 

 

 

 

Victor had fallen back asleep before he could explain, maybe it was better this way. At least with the soul occupied of the house fast asleep you could take a look around - perhaps find the bathroom without totally embarrassing yourself.

 

You made a mental note not to go peeking in closets - leave those skeletons alone.

 

Yes, _very much alone._

 

You find a bathroom eventually, thank god. You look like you just got loose from Arkham Asylum. Hair wild like a mangy flea-ridden beast, smudged mascara, you looked positively daunting.

  


 

 

 

 

 

At least after a warm shower, you looked fairly decent again. It wasn’t like you prepared to stay over; you didn’t organize any of this, really. You just came over to deliver what you brought here. 

 

Perhaps a nice cup of tea will lighten your mood, this freezing cold home was truly dampening any life left in you.

 

The kettle slowly boils, it’s amazing Victor _actually_ has a kettle who would imagine!

 

Before you can pour water into your cup, a slight knock comes to the front door.

 

You look at Victor who is still fast asleep, you can gather he’s not going to get up anytime soon.

 

So, he’s absolutely not getting that.

 

Maybe you should go to investigate it, _it could be important._

 

It must be - it’s not like this place was exactly accessible to anyone. 

 

_Bless Victor and his creepy secret lair._

 

The door is genuinely hard to open, it’s heavy and built like it could tolerate the pressure of a grenade; you don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not.

 

To your revelation, a joyous face greets you.

 

A shockingly familiar face that somehow was thoroughly different from any other.

 

It was like a much less scary version of Viola.

 

Same beautiful face, a totally different style, less black leather - more ... _purple? Pastel purple to be exact._ Her hair was pastel lavender and in two big buns on the side of her head. 

 

A big pink bow too….

 

It matched her dress.

 

_Which was covered in polka-dots?!_

 

Did someone FedEx you a best friend?

 

“Oh my god!” The girl nearly shrieked, thank goodness she didn’t wake Mr. Zsasz. “You’re Daisy? I’ve heard so much about you!” For a girl who didn’t appear to have much brute force she sure could grab you and whirl you around. 

 

“From everything my sister said, I assumed you’d be…” she wavered for a moment, unable to find the appropriate words…"shorter?"

 

_Oh lovely_.

 

You could only imagine what people say about you behind your back.

 

A part of you doesn’t want to know.

 

“I’m Lola by the way,” The girl finally introduced herself with a bubbly giggle. “ _Viola is my evil twin.”_

 

 

 

 

 

Why does everyone think that your Mr. Zsasz’s girlfriend?

 

Did you somehow lose that memo?

 

“We’re not dating…” You try to say.

 

Lola looked puzzled, “That’s not what my sister said, and Venus and Violet -“

 

You have to interrupt. “Do all of you ladies have _V_ names or something?” You were catching on to theme going on here.

 

Lola laughs finding your lack of knowledge highly comical, “Except me, yes. But I am not strictly speaking a Zsaszette…. _Well, I am_ , but not really. I am more into— _administration_ if you could call it that.”  

 

Administration?

 

“I handle things from afar, rather than go guns blazing.”

 

_Ah_  

 

“Are you planning to join up Daisy?” She asks happily.

  


No, you have no plans to join anything. You are perfectly content being the flower shop proprietor, _and exclusively that alone._

 

“Uhm… no… not today anyway,” You let her down easy.

 

Lola doesn’t seem too fazed, shrugging it off. “It’s alright Daisy, I don’t blame you. It’s not a job for the faint-hearted,” She grinned sweetly looking down at Victor fast asleep on the sofa.

 

At this point, he had the blanket flung over his head.

 

“Does he usually sleep in this late?” You ask half concerned.

 

“Oh yeah, he’s basically nocturnal,” Lola adds with a snicker. “Sorry about the whole dating thing before too, I only assumed because Viola only gets that mad when—”

 

She stops herself.

 

_“Nevermind…”_

 

“Plus, you spending the night here, just seems—” 

 

You roll your eyes, “We’re **_just_ ** friends.”

 

Lola’s cheeks turn pink, she knows something you don’t, “Daisy– Victor doesn’t have… _‘ friends’— well besides his bubbie and Wendell, but he cheated at monopoly last Friday;_ they’re not on speaking terms anymore.”

 

_What_.

 

“So you and the other girls are not his friends then?” You question hesitantly.

 

They were apparently something to him.

 

Still, it gets a return out of the girl. “It’s not like that… it’s hard to explain… Picture us more as a large dysfunctional family, and Victor being our fairy _step-_ mother.” 

 

_“See.”_ Lola points down at her patching pink pumps. _“Free shoes!”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Come with me, _Daisy_.” 

 

One of these days, these people will call you by your actual name.

 

_Hopefully_.

 

You follow closely, at least Lola knows her away around here, that’s something you can’t say for yourself. “In here,” she leads you into a bedroom.

 

Bunk beds?

 

“This is the room my sister and I share when we stay here… you can use it if you want, I am sure she won’t mind…”

 

_Ah...no thanks._

 

_“_ Anyways, we’re about the same size, I reckon,” Lola sizes you up. “Let me find something for you to wear.” 

 

Oh no… “It’s okay!” You try to express, “Seriously, I am good wearing these– they’re just a little puckered from last night on the lounge.” 

 

Lola perks and eyebrow, giving you a severe glare. “Daisy I’ll be frank with you, some of the other girls will be over in a few hours-” She says, “Saturday is Uno night. So, unless you wanna look like you just got shagged by Victor on the sofa for three hours straight, I suggest you change post-haste.” 

 

Oh dear. You didn’t look that bad...right? _Right?!_

 

“If you want to keep up this ‘just’ friends facade, you should take my advice.” She says, “You know if someone questions it, he’ll go along with it. Remember, he is a total ass,” Lola laughs.

 

She might have a point.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After fifteen minutes, Lola fortuitously found you ‘The perfect’ dress. 

 

It was an A-line dress covered in unicorns and skulls.

 

_It was also cotton candy pink._

 

“Go on, put it on! -” She essentially throws it at you, “Victor will love it!” 

 

_Excellent. Because this is for him…._

 

You eventually get it on, and yes, it is fairly nice, and it does indeed fit you. It just isn’t strictly ‘your’ style, but hey, it could be worse.

 

_It could be black leather._

 

Lola yells threw the bedroom wall while you’re busy changing. “Do you wear corsets, Daisy?”

 

“No…” You yell back.

 

“Damn, nevermind.” 

 

_It could always be worse, you remind yourself._

 

_It could always be worse._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hot tea, you could almost taste it now.

 

No more disturbances to your now not-so-morning ritual. 

 

You liked Lola, there was nothing bad you can say about her.

 

She was nothing like her sister.

 

_She didn’t even try to steal your blood…_

 

Which was a tremendous plus in your book.

 

Then again, you did shoot Viola’s _‘Fairy step-mother’_ as Lola had put it, thus, she had reason to be a bit angsty with you.

 

Though you couldn’t help but think you were seeing the whole picture here.

 

By the time you finished your cup of tea Victor was starting to wake up, if anything it was because Lola talked _\- a lot._

 

The foul stare Mr. Zsasz gave you from behind the sofa cemented the feeling.

 

“Oh _, it’s you.”_ He noted bitterly across the room towards Lola. “Who let you in?” 

 

She didn’t even care, but her cheeky grin had put you on edge, “Your new girlfriend, duh.” 

 

_You’re not his girlfriend._

 

Victor lifted an eyebrow at you and tilts his head, almost as if he’s checking you out. This dress does show a lot of … _.leg._

 

“She even let me dress her.” Lola in a matter-of-factly.

 

Mr. Zsasz just plays along. _“Hot.”_

 

Oh my god, “We’re not dating.”  _You’re not._

 

The assassin pulls a face, a pure mix of sarcasm and shock, “What. You’re breaking up with me?!” 

 

_Ugh.._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somehow you get peer pressured into staying for _‘Uno night.’_

 

It could be entertaining you tell yourself.

 

_It could be fun._

 

_Hopefully_.

 

At least you liked Uno. Who didn’t?

 

As Lola said more of Victor’s girls had arrived hours later. Two to be specific, Victoria had the flu and Viola allegedly had to ‘Practise at the shooting range.’ So that left you with Lola, Victor, Venus, and Violet.

 

Venus stood out the most with her large dragon tattoos up her arm and her emerald green _‘death hawk’_ which you had to agree were pretty neat.

 

The longer you gazed at it, the longer Lola pesters you saying she’ll do _yours_.

 

“Magenta—” The girls argue over what color would suit you better.

 

“Too dark, she needs a softer color - how about a baby pink?” 

 

They bicker for what seems like a while, not paying attention to the game.

 

You keep placing down your cards and the game goes on.

 

Victor scrunches up his hairless brow, he’s fed up with all your draw two cards; _your lack of compassion is dwindling._

 

“How about this for a thought, she keeps her hair the way it is.” Victor practically throws his card down in a huff.

 

The girls suddenly become quiet as if he’s uttered a terrible curse.

 

Their expressions reads a hard _‘How about no.’_

 

Mr. Zsasz batters his eyelids and gives a hard, scornful look in return. “No more draw two cards, _please_.” 

 

“I don’t have anymore,” you tell him with a straight face.

 

It’s your turn, you _told_ him the truth.

 

The timer in the kitchen goes off.

 

Lucky, just in time.

 

“Uno.” You call, giving Mr. Zsasz a little wink. 

 

You place down your card.

 

Draw four.

 

_“How about blue?”_  

 

Victor throws his entire deck at you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr. Zsasz didn’t take defeat very well. 

 

After he threw his cards, he also grabbed a skull-shaped ornament from the coffee table and threw that at you too.

 

You’re unsure if he meant it or not–

 

But it hit you right on the butt.

 

_It kinda hurt._

 

You suppose it beats a thorough spanking at least…

 

_Maybe._

 

Still, you couldn’t help but find it a little humorous.

 

The fact, not the bruise. _That will tingle for a while._

 

At least people didn’t mind you being able to cook well.

 

You called the ladies and Victor once you had plated up your miniature feast. Admittedly, you felt quite proud of what you could create with such a  meal with little help from. _..lacking equipment…_

 

Regardless, you put together a healthy, tasty supper.  

 

At least you thought you had.

 

Victor didn’t look too pleased.

 

Either that or he was still grouchy that you had completely _obliterated_ him at cards.

 

“What’s this?” He ridiculed the meal. 

 

Great, he was going to be painful.

 

He had to be demanding about everything, didn’t he? 

 

“Those there are things called - Vegetables.” You tell him, arms crossed. He will eat them, you hadn’t cooked them for nothing.  


Still, Victor rolls his eyes at you. “I know that. I am asking why they’re on my plate?”

 

Well, you too can be just as difficult, Zsasz was about to learn. “Because I was kind enough to cook them, and they are healthy and you are undoubtedly in need of health.” You tell him with your chin held high.

 

He doesn’t appreciate your punctuality. 

 

“Is that so?” Victor steps closer a head taller, closing in the space between you, “ _Little_ girl.”

 

_Oh, he didn’t._

 

_“_ What are you gonna do about it?” He threatens you.

 

Well, since he asked so nicely. “I’ll call your bubbie.”

 

His face flattens. 

 

You can see the girls in the background looking at each other, grinning with pink faces. They think this is hilarious.

 

“You wouldn’t,” Mr. Zsasz says, his eyes wide.

 

_“Oh, I would.”_  

 

Victor takes his plate without another word.

  
  


 

—He eats it all. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I apologize for my weird updating schedule. Anyways, hopefully it's at least somewhat satisfactory. XD

 

 

 

 

You were never a person who functioned well with less than eight hours of sleep.

 

Even for someone who had suffered from insomnia in the past and terrible recurring nightmares, four hours was truly pushing you to the limit, notably today. After last night, it was indeed like that, and so you were late for work the next morning.

 

If anything, it was most fortuitous you were your own boss.

 

Arriving an hour late wasn’t so bad, except for when Mrs. Johnson who just so happened to not get her flowers for her late husband’s grave on time. It was times like this you could swear Victor Zsasz attitude was starting to rub off on you. _He’s already dead, I am sure he can wait a little longer._

 

Speaking of Mr. Zsasz, he was a real pain in the _\- ass._

 

Truly.

 

You know somewhere right now, he has a giant smirk on his face knowing you can’t sit down without thinking of him.

 

_His girlfriend._

 

Good heavens. _How could this week get any more ludicrous?_

 

Nevertheless, you can’t say you didn’t think about it. Last night when you should have been sleeping, between five hours turning into four, you couldn't help but think about it. The thought that made you crack an awful smile. _Fancy that,_ you think. Going on a date with Mr. Zsasz, such a futile fantasy, but hey it was amusing to imagine.

 

_Where_ would it be? _What_ would he wear? What would you _do_? 

 

They were all trivial questions, in the end, it would never happen of course. He was him and you were you, unquestionably incompatible. At the end of the day, he was a bad man who did even graver things. 

 

_You weren’t confident you could see ever past that._

 

But for now solely, here in the present you like to picture the ‘what ifs’. Even if that consists of going on lewd rendezvous with the arduous man in black. If anything, at least he loved his bubbie.

 

You couldn’t help but smile just a little broader.

 

-

 

After lunchtime, you were received with a moderately pleasant surprise. 

 

“Lola?!” What was she doing here? How did she know where you worked? You were happy to see her, _still,_ it raised various enigmas.

 

“Daisy! Oh my god, this is where you work? It’s so cutesy and modest!” She laughs generally excited to see you. _” Just like you.”_

 

_“Lola,”_

 

“Oh, don’t mind me. I am just here on work- just like you, busy girl!” You watch Lola pull a pair of cat-eye glasses out of her sequined

purse and places them on, pushing them up to her the bridge of her nose. “Okay, so I received a message from - _you know who…”_ She offers you a cheeky smirk, following a flirty wink.

 

Lola flicks threw a fuzzy pink notepad, tapping a pen to her lip.

  


“Okay, found it. Victor asked if you could visit him after work. Oh, also he stated it would be more than _adequate_ if you were to also bring ice cream as well.”

 

Visit? Ice cream? Oh no. no, Mr. Zsasz already asked too much of you. You enjoyed his company, _but this was too much._

 

“Lola, why don’t _you_ bring him ice cream?” you ask in a huff, trying to make yourself occupied.

 

Still, she pursues after you, fastened to your heels. “Because he wants you to bring it, _duh.”_

 

_“_ You know, he said you’d say no.” She divulges, licking her thumb and turning another page. “And he said to _tell you_ that _he_ said, that you shot him and now he is feeling pessimistic and in need of ‘quote’ loving comfort.” 

 

You stood still, almost dropping your vase of flowers. 

 

_Depressed and in of comfort,_ oh please.

 

“Seriously Lola? The only thing Victor actually needs is Prozac and a heavy dose of vitamin D,” you sigh.

 

Lola simply chuckles along. “Then bring that too. You know he won’t stop asking. Besides, I think Zsasz really likes you!”

 

_Really?_

 

No, you think. _They are just teasing you._ It’s almost mean too. “Just get your sister to do it.” You snap finally, “She evidently likes him a whole lot. I see the way she gazes at him.” You couldn’t help but regard the way she suits Victor far more than you could ever.

 

They are practically perfect for each other, anyway. Not to mention, Viola looks like she could be a cover model… _for sexy serial killers weekly._

 

It was a fact.

 

Lola rolled her eyes at you. “If only you knew,” the girl shook her head. “Victor has absolutely no interest in my sister Daisy. He never has. It kills her, trust me. But it’s not his fault he doesn’t see her for anything more than she is.” 

 

You give her all your attention now. “What do you mean? Lola, why are you even working for Mr. Zsasz, you just don’t -”

 

“Seem the type?” She concludes, and yeah, she’s right. 

 

You nod.

 

“It’s complicated, Daisy, real complicated.” She sighs telling you the truth. “It goes back a few years now to our father, he too was... _rather complicated._ He was a drug supplier for Maroni back in the day, he wasn’t a good person, to anyone really, not to them, not to _us._ That being said, Viola wasn’t strictly the best daughter either, she had her fair share of issues as well, but that doesn’t matter. He would get drunk or _...worse…_ It didn’t help that back then Viola and I looked the same -” She laughed sadly to help self. “Somehow he would end up taking his resentment out _on me…. by mistake.”_

  
  


_“As I said,_ he was awful, so common sense suggests he had his fair share of competitors, it was only time before the unavoidable happened—”

 

You didn’t have to guess. “Mr. Zsasz?” 

 

Lola nodded. “–Our father had provoked a rift within the gangs. So, Victor had been sent to end it quickly before it escalated; he was and still is the best at resolving problems as soon as possible. And so, we had a hired gun at our door in the midst of the night.”

 

You didn’t know what to say. “Did Victor–?” 

 

She glances away for a second, a grim look on her face then swallows. “—My sister forced me into a closet, she didn’t want me to see _\- she wanted me to hide_ \- she has always protected me, you must understand that Daisy. _She has always had the absolute need to protect me,_ ” Lola’s face falters.

 

“Even so, I still heard the gunshot. I had my hands covering my ears and I still _heard it._ I got scared, I admit, Viola was out there - my twins sister, she was all that I had left… _That man;_ Victor Zsasz. Even then I knew who he was, my father had slurred his name in his drunken rages more time than you can imagine.”

 

Lola cried, “I ran out there, you see; trying to find my sister. It was only then that I discovered…” 

 

You saw her eyes closed for a moment; she didn’t want to relive it all over again. “It wasn’t Victor who was holding the gun.” 

 

_Oh dear._

 

“Viola had watched everything, she’s always been a tad… different, _hard_ might be a better word. She’s never been like you and me, she has always seen the world differently. It’s hard for her to see the good in people. She only ever saw our father as someone who brought us pain and anguish.”

 

“Thus, I expect it was easy for her to go to Victor while this was all happening. From what I understand, she interrupted him before he pulled the trigger, pushing herself in between them. She pleaded with him to stop.”

 

“—She wanted to do it, she wanted it to be by her hand, and only hers.” 

 

 “I guess it was revenge perhaps, a part of her wanted it to all stop, I suppose to a point it worked, _for her at least.”_

 

“It all somewhat amused Victor, or so I figure. She asked if she could join him a little time after the shot was fired, while our father laid warm in a pool of his own blood. It’s absurd to think about it now, but that’s what she did. I guess Victor was feeling generous that day, or maybe he was simply awed by her.”

 

“—We were seventeen at the time-”

  
  


_

  


“Daisy, daisy.” Lola snapped you back into reality, “Look, look who’s coming.” It was hard to pay attention now, so many things were escaping your mind at once. For one, Mr. Zsasz and the twins have a disturbing past. Two, Lola was dragged into this life by her sister. _Three_ , Mr. Zsasz groomed a seventeen-year-old girl into this ‘lifestyle’ in the midst making her fall in love with him, with absolutely no mutual feelings towards her back? 

 

This was crazy.  

 

“Daisy, are you going to get that?” 

 

The front door opened with a bang.

 

A customer.

 

Not just any customer. Oh, _hell._

 

_“Mr. Gordon?”_

 

“That’s _‘The’_ James Gordon?” Lola nudges your shoulder, whispering. You have expected her to bail on the spot, considering her choice of career. “Wow,”

 

_Wow?_

 

She wasn’t moving, not inching a muscle.

 

If anything happens to her, Viola is going to _kill_ you.

 

Lola looked positively hypnotized by the detective, you’ve never seen this reaction on her face before, it looked like she was about to _burst._

 

“You never told me you were friends with  _THE_ detective, Daisy?” Lola beamed forward and took James by surprise. 

 

If anything, he didn’t know where to look.

 

For now, he seemed distracted by her long purple hair. 

 

“Daisy?” James looked to you, it was the first time he heard the name.

 

Lola butted in before you could clarify, “It’s her nickname,” she snickers.

 

Mr. Gordon laughed awkwardly along with Lola, “And you are?” He asks, looking half dazed. “I don’t believe we’ve met...miss-”

 

“ _-Malloy-_ ” She fills in, bouncing forward to shake his hand. “Lola Malloy-” 

 

“I must say, James, you are -” Oh, here we go again… “So much taller in real life, the pictures in the paper don’t do you any justice.” 

 

“Uh-huh…” James looked back at you then back at Lola. “You come here often?” 

 

Was this a game of 21 questions? _He is a detective;_ you judge.

 

_You need to change the subject promptly._

 

Still, Lola persisted onward. “I do now, Daisy here just hired me this week. Can you believe it... I am her new assistant!” 

 

Oh christ.

 

_Lola...no…_

 

You try to chuckle over the top of them, “ _Ha,_ so wonderful…” _Change the subject, change the subject, change the subject…_ “Anyways... Just the usual Jim?” 

 

Yes, tulips… _red tulips… twelve of them, yellow ribbon, you recite._

 

Jim hesitantly returns, “Ah, yes - thank you.”

 

Lola just has to be nosey, _she has_ too. “Ow, who are those for - someone special?” 

 

_So nosey._

 

“Lola,” You sway your head at her.

 

“I am sorry -”

 

“It’s fine.” Jim drops a laugh that doesn’t sound genuine. “They are for-”

 

“Lee.” You finish, flashing her a look. 

 

“You have a brother?” She asks Jim.

 

James looks embarrassed, “Leslie,” he corrects.

 

“Ah, lucky lady. You know who else is a lucky lady?” 

 

_“Lola!”_

 

_For heaven’s sake!_

 

At least she seems thrilled by this all. 

  
  


Still. Jim gives you a look of a concerned father. Now Lola has started something, great, just great. “Is there something you want to tell me, Miss?” 

 

_No._

 

_Oh, hell no._

 

_He might as well lock you up and throw away the key._

 

“No,” you simply put it, “nope, nothing, my life is totally and utterly as dull as ever.”

 

“You certain about that, Daisy?” Lola snickers.

 

He elevates an eyebrow. “You’re an atrocious liar,” James nags your full name in a scolding tone.

 

_Great, looks like you’re getting grounded…._

 

“What’s going on?” Jim Gordon asks.

 

“As I said, it’s nothing…”

 

_“—She has a crush.”_

 

_Oh my god..._

 

That has James stunned, now he’s intrigued.

 

_Lovely. Why not blurt out everything Lola._

 

“On who?” He responds.

 

Oh, please...no….

 

“It’s a secret,” she leans in. “Top secret.” 

 

Thank god.

 

Gordon just shakes his head. “Should I be concerned, Ladies?” 

 

“Concerned?” Lola repeats with a snort, “Nope, he’s a real gentleman this one, he comes in wearing a suit and everything. He’s the lot, tall, _handsome_ and incredibly _...dark.”_

 

_You could hit her._

 

“I see,” James shoots you a glance, while you wrap the flowers casually in the background.

 

You’re trying not to totally freak out.

 

“I could always do a background check if you’re worried about—”

 

“No, I wouldn’t worry about it.” Lola shrugs it off, “This guy wears his honesty on his sleeve.” 

 

You sigh.

 

_You are so dead._

 

Either by James, Viola, perhaps Victor and the rest of Gotham. 

 

Everyone is just going to have to jump in line at this point —

  


“Here you go, James.” You pass over his flowers. “Tell Leslie I said Hi!”

  


“Are you going to see him now?” She asks once Mr. Gordon leaves.

 

“I will if you stop— this,” you acknowledge.

 

_“Deal.”_

  


_-” He also said, if there’s no ice cream, ice cream cake is also okay.”_

  
  


Fantastic.


End file.
